


Kikoku

by m_rosenkov



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Shorts, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 22:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13691103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_rosenkov/pseuds/m_rosenkov
Summary: The soft call of a gull stirs him, and he starts, absently taking the sword from his side into his hand. Cool to touch, as always. He grins.“What was he like?”(Short drabbles and pieces stitching together the lost past of Trafalgar Law after his death on Dressrosa).





	Kikoku

**Author's Note:**

> These a literally fleeting, incredibly short drabbles and prompts exploring the alternative canon if Law died on Dressrosa during the whole Bellamy fight, and how Luffy would deal with that. It is touching on the idea of losing someone that you aren't close to (the incorrect assumption that mourning is reserved for friends and family alone), and Luffy's values souring with regret. There's a consistency to them, and they are following a certain timeline, but they are just moments of grief, recorded whenever I have passing ideas.

_What cannot be said will be wept._

 

* * *

 

 

It is not your last words that he remembers, but a conversation you’d shared five nights before, sprawled out on the quarterdeck of the Sunny. The full moon gleamed wickedly above, shadowing your face, all sharp lines and glowing eyes, and he was staring, he knows, though you seemed not to mind.

You had said, “We will land in Dressrosa tomorrow.”

At the time, with the sky so full of stars and the steady rocking of his ship, that sentence had felt so bland, small-talk to fill the empty silence. But as Luffy thinks back on it, sifting through the shattered stone of what was once a proud castle, his realises it was so much more than that. It was your excitement; it was your drive—it was pouring out of you, then, anticipation turning into anxiety, your heart thudding too fast and loud and he remembers _that_ , he does, but he remembers not knowing what for, not until now.

You were scared.

Luffy’s feet slip in his sandal, and he cuts his hand on a jagged bit of stone in an effort to regain his balance. It stings, and he breathes in sharply, attracting the attention of Zoro just to his side. It’s funny that this tiny cut hurts more than his exhausted muscles, but there’s not a lot to care for, and he waves his swordsman away, both resuming their search, the sun setting too fast for his liking.

What were you scared of? He wishes he could ask you. There are so many possibilities, but you had been so unafraid in the face of death, so determined to reach your goal, that he feels he can safely assume that you were _not_ and were _never_ afraid of _him_.

So, was it failure that haunted your step? How can he tell you now that he avenged your death—that once he saw your battered and broken body, the blood pooling at his feet, he knew that that man had to die, and he would make him _pay_ for everything he’d done, slowly, painfully, tearing that smile off his face—

“Luffy. I found it.”

 _Good_.

Relief floods him, and he can already feel his eyes drooping as he wobbles over to Zoro, stepping over the bloody rubble. His first mate holds the sword out in two hands, and Luffy takes it from him, more careful than he has ever been in his life.

“He called it _Kikoku_ ,” Zoro says. “It’s cursed.”

“Oh.”

Luffy’s not really sure what this all means, but the sword seems to thrum in his hand, cool and still, almost severe in it silence, so like it’s owner. He loves it, how like you it feels, and he runs his fingers across her sheath, all battered and scratched and loved.

“We didn’t fail him,” he breathes, watching the sunlight dance along the black guard. “I—I’m… I’m sorry.”

Zoro reaches out, wrapping his hand around her hilt, and gripping it tight and sure. A moment passes where he basks in her calm energy, before he says, “Look after her until Zou, captain.”

He will try.

 

*

 

Midnight, a week later, and Luffy leans against the railing portside of Bartolemeo’s ship, arms dangling overboard. Everyone has gone to bed, preparing for their arrival at Zou tomorrow and whatever that may bring. Some part of him worries, anxious guilt twisting his guts at the thought he will return to your nakama emptyhanded.

However, the other part of him stays calm, the feeling of _Kikoku_ brushing his shoulder reminding him who he is—Monkey D. Luffy, Pirate King, never worried, never stressed.

A miracle worker, Doflamingo claimed you said.

He wonders if he can live up to that.

The soft call of a gull stirs him, and he starts, absently taking the sword from his side into his hand. Cool to touch, as always. He grins.

“What was he like?”

It’s not the first time he has spoken to her, alone, completely lost in his thoughts. Of course, he expects no answer, but it’s a nice feeling, airing out his chaotic mind, and he wonders, though just a sword, if she can at least feel his regret.

 

*

 

Your crew knew. You were plastered all over the newspapers, of course, but they’d known before that.

Shachi says, “We said our goodbyes.”

That’s… difficult to deal with.

He picks at the braid wrapped around _Kikoku_ , holding her tightly and not looking up. Then with a heavy heart, he takes a breath, and holds her out to the bear. This is where he lets you go, his last memory of you to pass on.

But instead of the sword being taken, Luffy feels it being pushed gently back towards him, and he looks up into the eyes of your crew, gathered around him with genuine smiles and care.

“You can keep it, _Mugiwara_ ,” Bepo says, eyes shining. “Captain only got this sword a few years ago. We remember him through other things.”

“Do you want to see?” a woman asks.

 

*

 

Zoro comes with him, a silent shadow by his side. He carries _Kikoku_ over his shoulder like you did, and even though it is just a sword, Luffy can’t help but think she is happy, wielded by someone who knows how, who understands.

They head down to the submarine: ‘The Polar Tang’, they name with pride. Luffy is startled by his own memory—the blinking lights, the silence, the warmth—and someone says something that has him laughing and apologising for trashing it all those years ago.

What an odd feeling, really, to be here again, to remember how long he has known of you for.

Because he’s never really known you, has he? He realises this with startling clarity when Penguin opens the door to your room and leads you in. It is a familiarity that takes him a minute to process, frozen in the doorway as he looks about the room. Shadows of you dance and flicker in his periphery, and there is the _smell_ , like mint and sage and the infirmary on the Sunny all rolled into one. He remembers you smelling like that, on those rare occasions you would come close.

Luffy eventually moves, walking around the room slowly, just taking it all in. He wants to know you, every part of you—your bed is perfectly made, of course, bedside empty save for a lamp and a display case full of ancient coins. There is your pride—your jolly roger—tacked on one wall, and on the other, a perfect drawing of the human body. Of course, medical texts line every bookshelf, some even strewn across the floor, but it’s your desk that takes Luffy’s interest, covered in books and papers and pens, wastepaper basket overflowing next to the chair.

One book lies open on page 184. There is a photo of a human heart, but the printed paragraph has been crossed out with pen. Messy arrows, lines and numbers fill every blank space on the page, coupled with illegible words and scribbles.

Something about it has him smiling, flicking through the book and finding almost the exact same thing on every page. It is just so… you. It oozes impatience and arrogance, fleeting ideas and conclusions recorded wherever your pen could reach.

“See?” Penguin asks, looking at the book over Luffy’s shoulder. “This is who our captain was to us.”

Luffy places the book exactly where he found it, open to the page, and he smiles. “I like it.”

 

*

 

You are not the first person he has known to die, and you will not be the last.

It’s so… _hard_ to deal with, though. You were not a friend, you made that clear. You were not a brother, a lover, or even a rival to him. You were just an ally.

And yet, as he lies awake for another night, basking in the memory of your smell, gripping _Kikoku_ so tight his hands burn, he is lost in you.

Why? Why is he like this? Why can’t he let you go?

 

*

 

(The sun rises over Zou, his mind beyond tired, and he knows the answer, as difficult as it is to admit. He did not know you, and yet, he claimed to. He overestimated you, and underestimated all your warnings. Over and over he recounts every conversation you had with him, warning him of Doflamingo’s power, and yet—

And yet.

He got lost in his honour. If he were a regretful person, he would replay the scene over and over in his mind, and just take down Bellamy in one quick punch. And that would be easy, wouldn’t it? Bellamy was nothing but a bully to him, and you…

You _saved_ him. You risked your life and your nakama, travelling to the heart of the Paramount War and taking him in. For days you operated and watched over him, and cared for him, and hid him, and—and…)

But he is not a regretful person. As he watches the sun stretch across the ocean, the spray of salt air whipping his face, _Kikoku_ sleeping on his lap, he knows he is sorry, but he does not regret.

He does not regret.


End file.
